


The First One

by jojoandpicnic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canada is Santa Claus, Christmas Fluff, Feliciano is cute, M/M, Pancakes to solve problems, Prussia is on the naughty list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojoandpicnic/pseuds/jojoandpicnic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew is Santa Claus' son, and will be taking over the family business when his dad retires. However, there's a catch- Matthew must find a Mrs. Claus before Christmas Eve. Enter Gilbert Beilschmidt, a man who has been on the Naughty List since his birth, who calls Matthew a hobo and takes him home. Transcribing over from ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All was busy in Santa’s workshop. Elves were making toys for all the good girls and boys — dolls and teddies, trucks and robots; all were rushing to finish the last few details of houses and soldier sets. The Big Red Guy was rechecking his list, making sure everyone was on the right one. Mrs. Claus was helping little elves finish baking the last set of snicker-doodle cookies and heating the last pot of cocoa of the day. 

There was a warm, fuzzy glow throughout the workshop; holly was hung everywhere and mistletoe pinned in odd spots; everyone but the Mister and Missus avoiding it. Trinkets and variations of Santa Claus were set up expertly, out of the way of the busy people. The workshop was a large, open space; one story and seeming infinitely large, with only two parts closed off in pseudo rooms; the kitchen and the boss’s office. Worktables were set up in twelve rows that were twenty-five feet long, going across the room and back, giving each elf enough space to do their work, the walls were wood paneled, as was the floor, with red and green panels every four panels. There were “break” tables placed every eight feet, with a ninth at the northernmost point in the workshop; true north. There was a collection of things on these break tables; two jugs of cocoa, kept hot, red and green mugs, four plates of cookies, one elaborate gingerbread house, and tons of candy-canes.

 Towards the southern part of the workshop was the kitchen; it was believed that the farther you were from the north, the warmer it was to keep the fire burning. The walls were painted to look like the walls of a gingerbread house; brown and iced. Inside, the counters were state-of-the-art ice marble with stainless steel appliances; four industrial size ovens, eight stoves, twelve refrigerators, and twenty-five microwaves. It had supplies any baker could ever want; mixers, icing, ingredients of every culture, blenders and mashers, pans and molds, cookie cutters, and whatever else one would desire. Though one would think that the kitchen gave off a cold feeling, the warmth and love from the people inside it made it all the better. 

Beside the kitchen was the Boss’s office. It was where he received the Naughty-and-Nice List and read through it twice, made his important toy inventions, and got caught up to date with other mythical beings unseen to any human’s eye. Directly behind his desk was a door that that to stairs and up the stairs was the second story to the workshop.

 Except it wasn’t a workshop anymore; it was a home, a sleeping quarters of sorts. It had an even bigger kitchen, numerous bathrooms, and separate dormitories for boy and girl elves, each with endless room. Each of the elves’ beds had their own individually designed headboard with their name engraved on it; they all had to make their own bed to become an official Santa’s elf. There were only three individual rooms; the head elf’s, one by the name of Tino— who was especially young for a head elf, at just 1931 years-old, though his talents made up for it— Santa and Mrs. Claus’—both in their mid-forties—, and one unbeknownst to anyone outside the North Pole. It was the bedroom of the Claus’ son, Matthew.  

Matthew was a man of twenty, average stature, shoulder-length, two-toned blonde-orange hair, and eyes so deeply blue they appeared violet, if almost by magic that ran through every Santa’s blood. He was an expert toymaker, just like his father, and was well-off in the baking department, too; he made the best pancakes in the entire North Pole. He was diligent in his work and often helped the elves more than he thought and was kind hearted and personable. Yes, this was the man to take on the family name and job of Santa when his father retires at age sixty. Everyone thought he was going to be the best Santa Claus yet. 

It was not new that a Santa was mortal; every single one of them lived and died the same life-span of a human, but they had magic running through their veins and cannot fall ill. They choose a “Mrs. Claus”—anyone that they can really trust their secret and part of their magic to, though the missus does not have to be married to Santa, nor does gender matter; the missus is there to help relieve Santa’s duties—when the current Santa believes the time is right, and they send their successor to go out into the world to find that special “Mrs. Claus”. When a budding Santa chooses his Mrs. Claus, they return to the North Pole to receive the current Santa’s blessing and they _must_ return by Christmas Eve. If that particular Christmas goes well, then come New Years, the new couple or trusted pair of friends receive a “Baby New Year”, of whom they are to name and raise to become the Santa after them. If the Christmas does not go well and there are errors, then they must wait until the next year. Santa is always a male, while his missus gender does not matter; three out of five Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus relationships are romantic, including the current Claus’.

It was the first of December today, and Matthew was working meticulously on a sea fort for little Peter Kirkland, a little boy who made the nice list for the twelfth time in a row. Which was, coincidentally, his entire life. The fort was turning out like a World War II fort, specified by Peter in his letter. The boy had an affiliation for an old fort off the coast of England, “Sealand” or something. It sounded more like an amusement park than anything. Matthew shrugged, smiling at the thought of the adorable boy, making sure every detail of the fort was correct. Soon, he was done carving out the fort out of sturdy wood and was just about to start painting when the head elf came up to the blond, patting him on the shoulder slightly.

The young Santa jumped a bit, snapping out of his deep concentration, turning towards the disturbance. “Oh, hello, Tino,” Matthew said, confused onto why the elf was disturbing him. Nonetheless, he gave the elf his full attention. “What can I do for you?”

Let it be known: elves were in no way tiny worker-bees. Before him was a lanky man, about five inches shorter than Matthew, with short platinum blond hair, finely sculpted features that hinted at Nordic origins, with pointed ears, and eyes that seemed to change color from blue to violet to brown depending on his mood. He wore the standard uniform for elves; a deep blue tunic with an icy blue sash—on colder days, a blue sweatshirt with insulated heating— brown breeches with various pockets for tools, and white high-tops; the shoes were a new addition that was Matthew’s idea.

 Tino was young for an elf; their life expectancy was about 5000. The previous head-elf had resigned when he turned 3000, at the time, Tino was only seventy-eight. It was clear to see why he was sworn in so young; the man was a genius at toy-making—almost as good as the Big Man himself. He can make thirty perfect toys in a day and made the headboard for his bed at twenty; a feat not made before, and it was the best of all at the time. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Tino fritted. “Boss wants to talk to you for a bit in his office. He’s got fresh cocoa.” The elf smiled encouragingly, ushering Matthew up, plucking the sea fort from his hands. “I’ll finish this for you!” He continued pushing the young toymaker, who was rather hesitant, towards Santa’s office door before opening it and shoving the boy inside, ditching him.

Matthew stood before the exit of his father’s office, nervously looking at him. Santa was growing out his beard in preparation for Christmas, his hair magically turning white and his body fattening into the classic, American Santa Claus; he was already wearing his red suit. On a normal basis, Dan, as was his name off season, was a physically fit man of forty-five that seemed to liven up any room. He normally had black hair that was starting to grey naturally and he looked like a kind and happy business man, if there ever was one; he believed a suit and tie was necessary for any situation save Christmas Eve and Day. Matthew loved having him for a dad. Though, he didn’t understand why he was called out now, especially in such a busy time of year. 

“You called me, dad?” the blond asked nervously. He toed at the ground, suddenly interested in the dark wood of the floor. Usually when his father asked to see him in the office, Matthew had done something wrong. He hadn’t messed up on any gifts recently, so did he not make them to his father’s liking?

Santa laughed heartily, tilting his head back. “You’re not in trouble, son. Come sit; there’s some hot chocolate here for you.” He aimed his charming smile at the young blond, one he often used of children who were not supposed to be up on Christmas.Matthew did as he was told, grabbing a mug, sipping at it. “So, Matthew.”

The blonde looked up, curious. “Yes, dad?” He sipped his cocoa, getting a sudden interest in the Nice List on his father’s desk. It was on a specific part of the state of New York, each good person listed last name first, first name last and their address beside it— currently on a Feliciano Vargas who wanted a new pasta pot. Matthew smiled; Feliciano was just a year older than him and had been on the nice list for most of his life, unlike his brother who had just recently gotten on it two years ago. 

Santa leaned forward to rest on his elbows, smiling gently at his son. “Me and the missus have decided it’s time for you to go out and find your own Mrs. Claus. You’ll leave and you have until Christmas Eve, as usual tradition.”

Matthew sputtered. “N-now? Bu-but, shouldn’t you have let me know months earlier, like before busy season? Dad, are you sure? Isn’t it too early for me?” On a normal basis, the young Santa would be ecstatic to go out and experience the world, but… Now? Matthew felt he wasn’t ready; he wasn’t as good as a toymaker as his dad yet and he really would just like to focus on his toy making and baking. He slumped in his seat, cocoa forgotten.

Santa nodded, giving a smile not amiss on a father’s face. “Yes, we’re sure. Matt, you always work; even as a child you never played with the other little elves or made friends. Your mother and I think it’s time you make friends, and if not with the elves, then with your missus.” His voice was drenched in its finality; it left no legroom for Matthew to object. All the blond could do was nod miserably. “Good. You’ll be using your mom’s maiden name — Williams. I’ll give you fifty American dollars, but whosoever you meet first should probably be your missus.” The man smiled in kind.

“And if not,” Matthew prompted. 

“Then, you’re out of luck, son,” his father joked. “If that does happen,” he added, more serious, “Well… It shouldn’t.” With a wink from Santa, Matthew slumped and saw nothing but black. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew woke up to noise. It was all discernible rumbling; no clear conversations or distinctive sounds to clue him in on what was going on. Matthew deduced he was probably in the middle of a city and it was snowing, trees rustled above him, sunlight bloomed on his eyelids. Slowly, groggily, he opened his eyes, taking up the scenery. 

He was in a park, for that he was sure. The grass was dead, from the patches you could see, the rest covered in uneven white snow. There was dark bark covering trees, their leaves long gone, the larger limbs covered with even more of the white fluff. Couples walked along pathways, sometimes glancing over to Matthew with odd looks. In the distance, in what Matthew assumed was the center, was a thirty-seven foot tall evergreen Douglas fir with a heavy, elaborate star at the top, purple and gold round ornaments scattered throughout. The blond was marveling in awe at the gaudy tree so he didn’t see someone coming near.

“Hey,” that someone said, close to him. Matthew jumped, turning to see the new man. “Whoa, calm down, man. The awesome me was just wondering if you were a hobo.” The man before Matthew was as pale as the snow on the ground, his hair as white.  His eyes were as red as Christmas cheer, as his teeth were showing in a roguish smirk. The young Santa knew who this was immediately.

This was Gilbert Beilschmidt; the one person to achieve being on the Naughty List every year of his twenty-five year-old life. 

He tried to inch away from the “naughty” man unobtrusively. He shook his head “no,” quickly and quietly, not meeting the man’s eyes. Matthew suddenly picked up interest for the bench he was on. It certainly was not North Pole quality, but it was still nicely crafted. The wood was warping and wearing after years of abuse, simple metal workings kept it together; this was a durable bench meant for two.

Gilbert took a seat beside Matthew, sitting with an “oof”. The blond could feel Gilbert’s red eyes on him; he still refused to look at them. “Are you sure? You were sort of sleeping on the bench like you were used to it. If you’re sure you’re not a hobo, then tell me where you’re staying.” 

Matthew fiddled his hands in his lap, staring at the white sneakers he wore, graying with age and use. He was sure Gilbert was making fun of him; he wasn’t on the Naughty List for nothing. The young Santa cursed his father for sending him to New York and for the whole Mrs. Claus ordeal. His dad had said the first person he met would probably be his missus, _would_ be his missus, but did that mean… Matthew shook his head, trying to clear it of the thought. The man beside him couldn’t _possibly_ be his Mrs. Claus! Matthew hoped someone had said hello to him prior this current meeting, but with the looks he was getting, the probability was low. 

Gilbert shifted. “So, no, you’re not sure, or no, you’re not staying anywhere?” He smacked his pale lips. “If you’re not gonna say, then my awesomness is gonna leave you.” Matthew chanced a glance at the man beside him. He looked pissed, but underneath it was confusion, like Gilbert was actually worried for the young Saint Nick and really wanted to know.

After a brief inward battle, Matthew bit his lip and spoke, albeit hesitantly. “N-no, I’m not a hobo, Gi—I’m not a hobo.” Matthew had almost let the albino’s name slip; that was a big no-no. Gilbert was supposed to be a complete stranger. “A-and, um… No, I’m not staying anywhere,” he said, softer than the previous statement. 

Gilbert was silent for a few seconds. Finally he signed and, with one great sweeping motion, stood, swinging around to face Matthew. “Wanna board with me and my _bruder,_ Luddie? It’s unawesome if you’re out in this damn cold, hobo.” The albino man smirked, his red eyes glinting. “I’m the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt!” 

Matthew stared up in astonishment. The man who made the Naughty List every year was doing something _kind?_ He didn’t think it was possible! Sure, Gilbert was probably his missus, but… he was also a complete stranger! Would it be safe for him to go to his house? Matthew was pretty sure the other man would have chains and bent, rusty nails littering his floor. He pulled at his sweatshirt’s sleeve— candy-cane red instead of standard elf blue; it showed he was a Kris Kringle. “U-uh…” He said, wearily. “I only just met you… I’m Matthew, b-by the way.” He held out a shaky hand, half covered by his sweatshirt, cursing that he was so nervous to be around Gilbert. After a second, he added, “A-and I’m not a homeless person.” 

Gilbert gave a smirk that said “Yeah, sure”, which made Matthew pout inwardly. “So, if you don’t have any place to go, where are you from,” Gilbert asked, grabbing at Matthew’s hand and pulling him to stand. Matthew gasped and tried to regain his balance, finding himself suddenly close to the naughty man’s smirking face. 

The young Santa blushed a pretty pink, trying to think through his frazzled state to come up with an answer _other_ than “Santa’s Workshop”. Finally, he settled on an excuse he had heard from a Santa-themed movie, a third sequel, mind you. “I’m, uh, Canadian… um, eh.” In a way, it was true; his mother came from Toronto, Canada originally, so Matthew supposed it was okay. 

The albino gave the blonde an odd look. “Oh…’kay… If you’re a Canadian hobo, how’d you get into New York?” Matthew bristled at the mention of being a hobo again, opening his mouth to object when Gilbert tugged at his arm again, starting to walk. “Anyways, it’s unawesomely cold out here! Let’s get inside!”

Matthew didn’t even have the time to make word of protest before he was dragged out of the park and into the rest of the city. There were even more people out and about; men in trench coats on cell-phones, women dressed in latest fashion on their way to work or the shops, children and teens walking and taking the bus to school, the naughty children ditching, the smell of exhaust was a permanent fixture here, making Matthew crinkle his nose. The albino made his way through the streets, crossing a few, ducking into smaller side streets, which made most of the buildings they passed insignificant blurs. Finally, Gilbert stopped in front of a building, a few stories shorter than the ones on either side of it, the brick tan with various stains, a wreath hanging on the door. He marched right up to it and entered, quickly dragging Matthew over to a set of elevators.

“So, this is where I live, and, boy, is it awesome,” Gilbert exclaimed, loudly. He had a look of pride on his face, beaming down at the young Santa. “You’ll have to sleep on the couch, hobo.” The albino stooped down and took a whiff of Matthew’s hair, which the blonde knew smelled like cinnamon and evergreen trees. “Awesome; you don’t smell bad at all! That means Luddie will like you more.” The elevator dinged and the strange man ushered Matthew inside.

Meanwhile, the young Santa was still trying to understand the naughty man; Gilbert was definitely a strange one— just who took a stranger home and smelled them? Matthew saw Gilbert choose the top floor, which was quite a ways up. 

The elevator ride was silent, Matthew trying to get his thoughts together about the other man, and Gilbert was waiting for Matthew to strike up the conversation. After a minute or two of silence, the elevator dinged again and the pair got off silently, Matthew awkwardly following Gilbert to his apartment. The man unlocked an average door; the same white color as the rest of the hallway, the only thing differentiating it being the number 1225 and a nameplate underneath reading “Beilschmidt”, and swung it open.

“Behold! The Casa de la Awesome!” Gilbert smirked wildly and bounded in, Matthew following hesitantly. 

To Matthew’s eyes, it was a sorry sight to see. There was not a single piece of holiday cheer _anywhere_ in the apartment; no reds or greens, no bows or ribbons, no candy-canes or gingerbread, no tree! There was no tinsel in sight! Getting past his obviously Christmas influenced state of fashion, the young Santa had to admit the apartment was finely decorated. To the right was a large kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances—though, nothing compared to the ones back home— that were spotless with white granite counters, to the left was a door, probably a hall-closet, directly in front of Matthew was a large living room. It had sleek black couches and arm chairs, though they still managed to look comfortable, a mahogany coffee table and a sixty-inch flat screen, the floor being of the same wood as the table with a plush throw-rug sitting underneath said coffee table. The room had ceiling lights and ceiling to floor windows, so that rid the room of lamps, in the corner was a book case full of not books, as one would think, but movies. Off to the right side, in the middle of the wall was a hallway that leads to three doors, one of which was open, only to show a black and white bathroom, so Matthew assumed the other two were bedrooms. 

The blond could not imagine _anyone_ wanting to live in a house that was only two colors, at best, but here this person was; a person who was also willing to take a “hobo” home for the holidays. He continued making his way in, gently closing the door behind him, and looked over to Gilbert, who was currently sitting on the couch, hurriedly emailing someone on his smart-phone. 

“Hey, Gilbert?” Matthew finally said, cutting into the silence. The albino looked up, pausing in his typing. “Why are you doing this? Y-you don’t seem like a person to just take a stranger home and offer them a place to stay…”

Gilbert smirked, answering immediately. “Feli said—that’s Luddie’s _friend_ , by the way—I should do something ‘nice’ so ‘Santa Claus’ will give me something other than coal.” He rolled his eyes and sniggered. “Plus, you’re cute, so, whatever.” The albino’s smirk widened. 

Matthew blinked, feeling slightly insulted. Gilbert a) didn’t do this out of his own free will and b) doesn’t believe in his father and, by extent, Matthew himself. The young Santa was about to give the naughty man a piece of his mind when the door opened again and two sets of feet, one of them chattering away, walked in.

Both Matthew and Gilbert looked to see the intruders and met two eyes staring back, one ice-blue and the other a light brown. It was silent for a few seconds before Gilbert broke it. “Hey, Ludwig,” he greeted, smirking.

Ludwig, the blue-eyed man, did not look very happy, and, glancing towards Matthew, he asked, through clenched teeth, “ _Bruder_ , who is this?” The brown-eyed man had stopped chattering and was staring at Matthew with an odd look, and with a start, the blonde realized this was Feliciano Vargas, the man who wanted a pasta pot for Christmas. 

“Ve… Santa Claus?!”


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew blinked at the Italian man’s words. Did he really give off such an aura as to be recognized instantly as Santa Claus? Sure, he wasn’t the big man himself, yet, but he would be. Feliciano looked like a child who had, well, just met Father Christmas; eyes shining bright, full of hope and happiness, the widest grin on his face as he shook with excitement. Matthew spared a glance at the pair of brothers, who were staring at Feliciano like he was dancing on a polar bear juggling elves and stuffing his face full of date cake. In short, they stared at the happy man like he had reached a new level of stupidity. 

In a fraction of a second, Matthew felt something slam against him and tackle him into the couch. Before he could even grasp his head around what had just happened, the force had situated itself into the blonde’s lap, sitting sideways to face him as Matthew’s arms automatically moved to support Feliciano’s back and rest on his knee. To Gilbert and Ludwig, it reminded them of a child sitting on a person dressed as Santa’s lap at the local mall, excited to tell the stranger all they wanted at Christmas and take pictures. Which, regrettably, Feliciano dragged Ludwig every year to go do; they were going to go later today.

Matthew watched as Feliciano’s grin brightened and mouth started to talk. “Oh, Santa! I’m so glad you’re here! Luddie and I were going to go see a man dressed as you later today, but since you’re here, we don’t have to! I’m sure you already got my letter, but in case you didn’t, I’ll tell you what I wish for. I want a new pasta pot for Christmas, one that’s big and shiny! I love making pasta, but my pot is wearing down and not big enough to make enough for everyone, so I’m asking you for a new one. Oh! But what if I’m not on the Nice List? Please tell me I’m nice! If I wasn’t, then would make me naughty? Ve~, I don’t want coal; I want a pasta pot! Have you ever had pasta, Santa? I love having pasta, especially when me and my brother, Lovino, make it together! Do you want me to make you pasta right now? You must be hungry, coming down from your workshop! I can make you any type of pasta you want; rigatoni, spaghetti, vermicelli, capelli d’angelo, bigoli, bucatini, pici, bavette, fettuccine, lasagne, linguine, mafaldine, scialatelli, stringozzi, cannelloni, fusilli, garanelli, gemelli, manicotti, penne, conchiglie, corzetti, farfalle, fiori, gigli, lanterne, orecchiette, rotini, rotelle, or strozzapreti! And then the sauces! Any sort of red sauce or alfredo or anything, really! Ooo! I’m hungry now, aren’t you, Santa? Luddie! What do you have to eat here?” The man took a breath. “And I want a cookie.”

The young Santa tilted his head back and gave a hearty laugh at Feliciano’s exuberance, while he heard Ludwig sigh. “I’m sorry about my friend, he can be a little childish,” Ludwig apologized, coming over and tried to pull Feliciano off of Matthew, who wrapped his arms around “Santa’s” neck in response, pouting. Ludwig looked like he was about to yell at the pouting man, when Matthew cut in.

“It’s fine,” said Matthew, still smiling. He reached into the large pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a sugar cookie, presenting it to the nice man. “A cookie for you, Feliciano,” he said softly, so only the person clinging to his neck could hear him. Before Feliciano could grab it, Matthew quickly added, a bit louder, “Careful, it’s still hot! They’re fresh from this morning.” 

Feliciano’s eyes widened when Matthew said his name, like he really just proved his theory that Matthew _was_ Saint Nick. He nodded quickly, making a grab for the sugary cookie, and then promptly shoved it into his mouth and chewed. When he was done, he smiled at Matthew, and said, brightly, “Ve~, thanks, Santa! It was so yummy!” 

Like it was planned— though Matthew didn’t think it was— the silent thus far brothers cut in with a unanimous “Santa Claus is not real, Feliciano!” Said man flinched visibly and Matthew felt the tiniest bit offended, though he was used to nonbelievers. Feliciano moved off of the young Santa, done with requests, and flashed a secretive smile which Matthew happily returned. 

Now sitting properly, Feliciano turned to the men, pouting. “Is to,” he insisted, and then gestured to Matthew beside him. “Look! He’s right here!” The blond gave a meek look, staring at the wood floor, not daring to meet either of the brothers’ gazes. 

Ludwig’s stern voice spoke slowly and deliberately. “Feliciano, there is no existing _Sankt Nikolaus_ , and frankly, it’s very rude to call this stranger ‘Santa’, when he clearly does not look like him.” Ludwig paused then asked, “Just who is this, _bruder?_ It’s not like you to bring home people off the streets.” The tall blonde glared at his brother, crossing his arms.

Gilbert laughed, standing to clap his brother on the back. “This—” he gestured wildly to Matthew—“is… what’s your name again, hobo?” His red eyes rested on the quiet Santa, pausing to pick up the name, while his brother took on a look of irritation. Gilbert continued, not waiting for an answer. “Well, anyways, he’ll be staying here until…” he trailed off, not thinking ahead this far.

Matthew quickly picked it up. “H-hopefully before the twenty-fourth,” he said, wavering under Ludwig’s stare. “I’m M-Matthew Williams, by the way.” The young toy master was afraid of Ludwig for an entirely different reason than Gilbert; Ludwig had achieved the Nice List for most of his life— though there was about five years where he didn’t—but he was very… intimidating. Matthew reached into his sweatshirt pocket, this time producing a candy cane, which he quickly stuck in his mouth. After a few moments, he added, “I’m not a hobo, but I really don’t have a place to stay.” 

Gilbert smirked, going over to sit between Matthew and Feliciano, worming his way in as his brother took on an exasperated look. “Gilbert, you shouldn’t bring strangers home randomly. Why did you pick up this man, especially when you didn’t know his name?” Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. Matthew tried edging away slowly from Gilbert, still not comfortable being within close proximity of the “naughty” man. 

“I knew his name, I just forgot it, unawesomely,” Gilbert responded, a smooth, lazy smirk gracing his face. “I took him home because remember what Feli told me last week?” Feliciano perked up and made a sound of remembrance, while Ludwig’s scowl deepened. Matthew was sorely confused; there was a greater scheme other than an act of kindness to take him to Gilbert’s apartment? “He told the awesome me that I needed to do something ‘nice’ to get into ‘holiday spirit’ or some shit like that.” The naughty man rolled his eyes but smirked at Feliciano.

He would not lie; Matthew was the slightest bit disheartened when Gilbert said that. He was what the List’s records said every year; naughty. The young Santa assumed that if Gilbert wasn’t told to do something kind and had assumed Matthew _was_ a hobo, he wouldn’t have taken him home— or even looked at him, for that matter. Gilbert had probably picked Matthew because the blonde didn’t exactly look dirty like a homeless person usually would. If his father’s words were true and the first person he met _was_ his Mrs. Claus, then the young Santa feared for the future of Christmas. Gilbert didn’t have holiday cheer, he wasn’t nice, he didn’t even _believe,_ and he probably _hated_ children. This was the man that was supposedly going to be the best friend Matthew would ever have? He certainly couldn’t see himself having a relationship with Gilbert that was similar to his parents. Matthew felt like a failure compared to all the Santas before him; of course _he—_ with all his luck—would get a missus that was so wicked.The young Santa quickly felt himself get depressed and he tried to snap out of it, shaking his head slightly.

Coming out of his thoughts, he picked up the end of Feliciano’s sentence. “—now that he’s here, he _can_ stay, right, Luddie? Because it would be really mean to throw someone out onto the streets, especially in this weather!” Feliciano was bouncing in his seat, and in a second was across the room, clinging onto the gruff man’s arm.

Gilbert’s smirk broadened. “Yeah, Luddie, don’t be a Grinch! Let… uh, Birdie stay just until the twenty-fourth!” The naughty man managed to wrangle Matthew into a semi-hug, giving him a noogie to the head, just shy of a curl that bounced on the blonde’s head. The young Santa felt very uncomfortable in Gilbert some-what embrace; it set an odd feeling in his stomach, like little gingerbread men running around. The naughty man released him and Matthew scooted further away while Gilbert laughed and with a teasing tone said, “Awe, you’re blushing, Birdie!” 

With a start, Matthew lifted a hand to one of his cheeks and found an abnormal amount of heat pooled there; and with Gilbert’s tease, he blushed more. What did this mean? Was this an onset of a crush? He quickly banished the thought. There was _no way_ he could fall in love—or even befriend—this naughty man, destiny to be a missus be damned. Then, Matthew paused and thought of Gilbert had been calling him; the albino still couldn’t remember his name! “I’m Matthew, not ‘Birdie’,” the blonde corrected, pulling the swiftly dwindling candy-cane from his mouth. “A-and…” he trailed off, not finding an excuse for his blushing, promptly sticking the candy-cane back in his mouth as an excuse to not talk. 

If anything, Gilbert laughed more and this time Feliciano chimed in, the traitor. Matthew glowered at nothing and pouted, still blushing, and swallowed what was left of the candy. “Oh, and L-ludwig, if you want me to leave, I will,” he added quietly, looking to the floor, the teasing gone from mind. He made move to stand when a hand shot out, dragging him back to the couch. He stared, astonished, at Gilbert, whose hand was still clasped around his wrist, which was spreading a warm as cocoa feeling throughout the blonde. Matthew silently cursed the feeling, trying to peel his wrist away from the inviting warmth.

Gilbert talked around Matthew, gaze on his brother. “Matthew is staying until the twenty-fourth,” he stated, firmly. “What’s wrong with showing a little awesome ‘niceness’ around Christmas, Lutz? We’ve got enough money to support another person and who cares? It’s only for a month!” Gilbert glanced towards the young Santa, smirking. “And if Birdie here murders me in the night, you can say ‘I told you so’ and inherit every awesome thing I have. Deal?” Matthew was horrified to be even thought of doing something so naughty; everyone who has ever murdered gets on the Naughty List until they truly feel regret for what they did, and only then were they forgiven. But for a Santa to murder… that was unheard of! 

Ludwig was silent, mulling over the deal. He glanced at Gilbert, who gave a thumbs-up, then looked at Feliciano, who was at his side, who smiled encouragingly at him and whispered, “For Santa, Luddie!” It was then that Ludwig settled his gaze on Matthew, who avoided those piercing blue eyes, playing at the edge of his red sweatshirt before gripping it under Ludwig’s heavy stare. It was almost out of nervous habit that Matthew reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a screwdriver and a small toy car, fiddling with it, disassembling it fully less than five seconds before reassembling it in another five, repeating the process. He hardly noticed the odd stares he got from Ludwig and Gilbert, though Feliciano only smiled and cut in, “So, can he stay?”

It was silent for a few seconds longer, Matthew disassembling and reassembling the car anxiously. With a grunt, Ludwig walked over to stand before Matthew, who fretfully looked up. The large man held out his hand. “Ludwig Belischmidt; welcome to our home, Matthew Williams,” he introduced.

Gilbert and Feliciano looked up excitedly, the naughty man smirking, and said exactly at the same time, “He can stay?” They both bounced with anxiousness.

“ _Ja,_ he can stay,” Ludwig affirmed, attempting a small smile. Matthew took the hand offered, smiling, and shook it. 

“An honor, Ludwig.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a week and a day since Gilbert had spontaneously taken the strange blond hobo home and he actually wasn’t killed during the night. Matthew had been a perfect little house guest; he made his bed on the couch and cleaned it up each morning, did a fair share of chores, and kept to his own while still being polite. He answered every question asked and stayed in, even when everyone left for work or any other activities. And, on occasion, he offered to prepare dinner, and though Gilbert and Feliciano trusted him, Ludwig declined. Matthew also never swore, Gilbert noticed. Instead of an expletive, the blond always said “maple” or “hockey” or something Christmas related; it blew the albino’s mind.

Though he seemed cleanly, the blond never washed his clothes, saying something along the lines of “your soap will harm the material” or another excuse. Gilbert occasionally saw him pull something out of a pocket that one usually thought could not fit into a pocket — various screwdrivers, hammers, duct tape, toys of every kind, cookies and candy canes, and, surprisingly, a thermos full of cocoa! And another thing, no matter what shower products Gilbert gave him, the Canadian always smelled like cinnamon and… just Christmas all together. It really unnerved the albino man.

Gilbert was a man that grew up in a very religious background, though his parents never celebrated Christmas and had taught both Gilbert and Ludwig from a young age that a fat, jolly man that went around giving gifts to children did not exist. They had also told Gilbert that even if such a man did exist, all he would ever get was coal. The albino was what you would call a “trouble-maker” as a child and he rarely did what society said a good, nice little child should do. He hit, he screamed, he was extremely narcissistic, he never listened to his parents, he talked back to his teachers… Whatever you thought a bad child would do, Gilbert did and then some. When he grew older, he managed to start his own business with his brother and learned stock trade, and they made a fortune as business men. Their own business was booming, having just merged with a smaller corporation to help them form a bigger “empire,” and their stock shares were doing well. The best part? Gilbert didn’t have to go to an office. People often called him a Scrooge, as he was never inclined to donate to charity around this time of year, nor did he like giving any workers the holidays off, and never in a million years would he ever think of taking home a man that practically _screamed_ Christmas without even trying. 

Sunday was when Gilbert finally got the chance to taste Matthew’s cooking. For once, the albino had awoken before his brother, who usually woke at five o’clock sharp. Apparently, he wasn’t the first up; Matthew was. The albino padded to the kitchen, yawning, somewhat ready to make breakfast for everyone; some awesome wurst and eggs. What he wasn’t ready for was seeing the house guest in there, humming a song under his breath that sounded like “Jingle Bells” making pancakes, and lots of them. Gilbert spotted eight plates out, seven of them piled eight pancakes high and the last one currently had four, he saw that while Matthew was making four more pancakes. He was also making scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and hot chocolate. He watched as the blonde expertly flipped the pancakes, turn the burner off for the eggs, deftly open a cabinet and produce a bowl, only to put the cooked egg in there. The song changed to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” as Matthew stacked the last four pancakes, put the hash browns in another serving bowl, and set the bacon on a plate. He laid out all nine plates and two bowls on the little kitchen table as he dashed over to the refrigerator, pulling out butter and whip cream, and to another cabinet to pull out powdered sugar and maple syrup Gilbert didn’t even know was there and set those out, too. He turned the burner off the hot chocolate and expertly poured it into four mugs he had set out, and then he pulled out four more plates and a set of forks. 

The blond turned suddenly and almost bumped in Gilbert before realizing he was not alone in the kitchen. The albino man watched as Matthew backed up, blushing as his fingers fumbled at the edge of his sweatshirt. “S-sorry, Gilbert,” he apologized, his eyes fixated on the floor. “I made breakfast, so, um, help yourself. I’ll go get Ludwig and Feliciano up.” He started to walk past him but then stopped and turned. “Oh! There are four types of pancakes: buttermilk, cinnamon and brown sugar, chocolate chips and peppermint, and everything in the last set!” The blond smiled and rushed out of the kitchen, giving the groggy Gilbert barely enough time to nod, as he carefully avoiding the albino man. 

That was another thing Gilbert had noticed throughout the week. Matthew always tried to keep his space from the albino man even though he was perfectly fine with Feliciano hanging off him or being within a somewhat close proximity with Ludwig, but when it came to the business man, the blond inched away and didn’t come close at all! It bothered Gilbert; he was awesome and why wouldn’t Matthew want to be close to such an awesome person? He could tell that the Canadian must at least like him; he never blushed the way he did around Gilbert compared to anyone else in the apartment. The albino had to admit, he _wanted_ Matthew to like him; the blonde was too cute for his own good, it reminded him of a frittering bird. To be honest, Gilbert had the tiniest, smallest, pea size crush on Matthew. Just a little one. 

Shrugging, Gilbert walked over and served himself eggs and bacon before staring at the eight stacks of pancakes. He served himself one of every type before applying butter and hesitantly added the syrup; he grabbed one of the mugs and headed over to the couch, choosing to eat breakfast there. The albino wondered at the back of his head why Matthew had made so much but shrugged it off in favor of taking a bite of pancake. It was… Gilbert dropped his fork, eyes widening just as Matthew, Ludwig, and Feli entered, making their way to the kitchen.  

Ludwig immediately rushed over, carefully inspecting his brother and picking the fork up. “Gilbert! Are you poisoned? I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Matthew.” The large blonde sent a glare towards the house guest. Matthew flinched back, not sure why Gilbert had dropped his fork, either. Gilbert slowly turned his head towards the quiet blond, just staring at him before standing and going over to clasp his shoulder. Ludwig stood on the defensive, worried for his brother.

“Matthew,” Gilbert breathed, his face neutral. “What do you put in your pancakes?! They’re heaven! Almost as awesome as me! Oh, _mein Gott_ …” The albino unclasped Matthew’s shoulders suddenly and returned to the plate he had served, forgoing a fork and scarfing down the heavenly pancakes. Gilbert paused when he heard Matthew chuckle—which he found adorable—but continued eating when he heard the three people enter the kitchen.

Soon, he was joined by Feliciano, who was currently praising Matthew on his cooking skills with a plate that looked similar to Gilbert’s, Ludwig who just had two pancakes and a cup of cocoa, and Matthew who had—holy shit; he had a stack of eight pancakes, eggs, bacon, cocoa, and a heavy amount of maple syrup on top. The albino watched as the cute blonde dug in, eating happily and at twice the speed of Gilbert. Breakfast was a quiet affair, everyone marveling at Matthew’s godly pancakes. When everyone was finished, Matthew collected everyone’s plates and mugs and, with a quiet “Hoped you liked the food,” he swept off to the kitchen. After a few seconds, there was the sound of water running. 

Gilbert stood, his belly full with great satisfaction and followed Matthew to the kitchen, leaning lazily on a counter. He stared at the odd Canadian for a few seconds, eyes wandering downwards, unabashedly staring at the blond’s ass. He glanced up, noticing that Matthew was blushing, obviously aware of the eyes on him. Before he could think twice about it, Gilbert suggested, “Let the awesome me take you out today, Birdie.” The albino blinked when the words were out but quickly smirked like he meant to ask that. 

To Gilbert’s great pleasure, Matthew blushed two shades darker, pausing in his dish washing. “U-uh, okay, sure. When?” The blond kept his eyes on the dish in his hand, flicking his eyes up to glance at Gilbert but it was only a fraction of a second that the albino thought he almost imagined it. The business man was elated, though he would never admit it, that Matthew had agreed to go out with him today. 

Gilbert’s smirk broadened. “After I get dressed, we can go get lunch. Awesome?” Matthew nodded, and continued washing the dishes as the albino walked to his room, wasting no time in getting dressed. That gave him an hour and a half until noon, so he spent the hour emailing whoever he needed to email for boring business details and then checked his stocks.

Fifteen minutes before noon, he exited his room, finding Matthew and Feliciano having a much one-sided conversation on the Italian’s part about pasta. The blond’s expression screamed “HELP ME,” so Gilbert lazily made his way over, smirking. “Hey, Feli,” he cut in. “The awesome me has to take Birdie here somewhere.” The albino grabbed Matthew’s wrist, dragging him off the couch. “C’mon, Matt.”

The blonde turned to give the Italian a polite “Good-bye,” and followed the albino out the door. Once outside, the Canadian quietly said, “Thanks, Gilbert.” and walked towards the elevator. “S-so, where are we going,” Matthew asked, trying to make polite conversation, and, much to Gilbert’s disappointment, kept his distance from the albino. They stepped into the elevator and Gilbert said nothing the entire way down, which he saw made the blond uncomfortable as Matthew pulled out a toy and did that odd disassemble/reassemble thing he did when he was nervous.

They exited the building and Gilbert picked a random direction to go off in with Matthew trailing along. Finally, he answered, “I honestly don’t know where, what about a hot dog? Sound awesome?” The albino turned to look for confirmation from his … friend? What was Matthew to him? What did Matthew see him as? Gilbert kept his poker face as he watched the Canadian man mull over the suggestion as they walked aimlessly. 

After passing a few buildings, Matthew spoke up. “That sounds nice,” he said, smiling as he glanced about. Gilbert smirked as he kept a look out for an infamous New York hot dog stand. They talked of random topics that Gilbert brought up, ranging from favored sports—hockey for Matthew, football (the European kind) for Gilbert—to animals like birds and polar bears, and at one point they had discussed which was better—pancakes or wurst, which the albino had made sound very lewd and disturbing. 

A couple of blocks later, they came across a stand in front of the park Gilbert had found Matthew in, and they bought hot dogs with everything on it. The pair found themselves an empty bench and Gilbert was pleased to find that the blond no longer shied away, but instead sat closer for warmth as they ate in content silence, watching passer-by go about their day while they could hear children playing out in the snow behind them. It was warmer today than earlier in the week, though it was still very cold with slushy, dirty snow covering the park, but it didn’t deter the children who laughed and played happily while mothers yelled for them to be safe.

Gilbert went to go throw away their trash and when he returned he saw Matthew on the bench, yes, but there was a little girl seated on his lap, chatting away happily as the blonde smiled kindly and patted her shoulder. What was even stranger was that there was a line of children—boys and girls of varying ages—waiting impatiently for the girl to finish. The Canadian caught sight of the albino watching and smiled sheepishly, shrugging as the little girl jumped off and thanked him and Matthew nodded to her as a boy a few years older took her place. Gilbert walked over, ignoring the kids that were complaining about him “cutting” and took a seat beside Matthew.

“D-man, Birdie,” he said, censoring his mouth around the boy on the blond’s lap, talking of boats and trains. “I leave for two seconds and you’ve already attracted kids with your pedo skills.” The blond sent a glare his way, but smiled at the boy before getting him replaced with another kid; the line seemed _endless_. 

That was when Gilbert heard the reason all these kids had gathered around his… date? What was he? The albino would have to clear that up later. What he heard was the little boy, one of about twelve with massive eyebrows and sea-blue eyes, exclaim, “Wow, Santa! Nice to meet you I’m Peter! And I…” Gilbert stopped listening after that, getting hung up about who the children thought Matthew was; even Feliciano had called the blond Santa Claus upon first meeting him, it left Gilbert stumped as to why. 

He shook his head to clear his thought _. Later_ , he thought, _later_.

They had children flocked around them for another thirty minutes before their parents had to drag them away to get them out of the snow, much to Gilbert’s relief. After Matthew had listened to their requests, he got pelted with questions about “life in the toy shop” or something like that. It made Gilbert’s head spin at the amount of questions and answers given.

But more than anything, it deepened the mystery of Matthew Williams, the cute blonde he picked up on whim a week ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so shitty. I wrote this three years ago. In other news, when I first posted this chapter on FF, Hostess had gone bankrupt and everyone was freaking out over 2012.


	5. Chapter 5

It was now the sixteenth of December when Matthew was approached by Feliciano one morning. Gilbert and Ludwig had gone out to do whatever those two did, and that left the Italian home alone with the blond. 

Over the past week or so, Feliciano had become something akin to a friend and constantly asked him questions about the North Pole, which Matthew answered to the best of his ability without giving away too many secrets. The Italian had been appalled when the young Santa had said they didn’t eat pasta often, and had then dragged Matthew to the kitchen and made him some fresh pasta. Matthew had asked Feliciano about Gilbert, trying to get to know his missus better without actually talking to him. From Feliciano he had learned that he had become Ludwig’s “friend,” as the stoic blond was embarrassed to be so open with their relationship and was in denial, about five years ago while in high school. The brothers had come from Germany to the US for a fresh start, as their parents had said, and had immediately fit in well. More specifically about Gilbert, he was albino. Feliciano had said it like it was new information for Matthew.Something that was surprising to the blond was that Gilbert had a love for baby chickens and cute things, and that he continually said in high school—more often as a joke, but it still stood—that he would have “awesomer kids than anyone in the world!” Gilbert had two best friends that were currently out of country; Francis was a Frenchman currently in Paris working on a clothes collection and a Spanish friend, Antonio, was taking a holiday in Southern Italy, where Feliciano said was the origins of the Vargas name. There was another piece of information that greatly disheartened Matthew; the reason the brothers didn’t celebrate Christmas. Their parents never celebrated it, so they never got in the hang of Christmas cheer. 

It was also the reason why Feliciano approached him that morning. Matthew looked up as Feliciano came closer on the brisk Saturday morning. “Ve~ San—Matthew?” Feliciano had asked, oh-so innocently, as he slipped up on Matthew’s name once again. The blond had explained to the Italian repeatedly that he was not yet Santa Claus, but Feliciano _still_ slipped up. “Can you help me with something?”

The young Santa looked up wearily, not quite liking what Feliciano was up to. Nonetheless, Matthew said, “Of course I can, Feliciano. What is it?” Hopefully, his idea would not be idiotic.

Feliciano grinned happily. “Well, I was thinking, we could decorate the apartment while Luddie and Gil are gone!” Feliciano’s smile held strong while Matthew continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. When little St. Nick did not say anything, Feliciano’s grin dropped a bit and he added, “You know, like Christmas decorations! To get them in the holiday cheer and maybe this year we can all celebrate Christmas together, correctly, ve. Unless, you have to go back to the North Pole on Christmas, since you’re Santa Claus, and all, and that would be kinda sad, but I understand and I’m sure Luddie and Gil will, too. So, you want to decorate with me?”

Matthew blinked, slowly realizing what the Italian was saying. “Um… sure. That’ll be, uh, fun.” Matthew smiled timidly; with every passing second, he liked the idea even more. If the apartment was decorated, Matthew would definitely feel more at home.“And I’m sure it will work; I was thinking they needed to get in the Christmas spirit, too. By the way, Feliciano, I’m not Santa Claus yet, but I will have to go back to the North Pole on Christmas Eve. I wish I could spend Christmas here, I really do, but I can’t. Sorry.” Because it was true. Matthew _did_ want to spend Christmas with these people who he had known only for sixteen days. Ludwig, Feliciano, and Gilbert were all wonderful people. Granted, Gilbert was not the nicest of all people, but Kris Kringle, Jr., was really starting to like him.

The Italian clapped his hands, jumped up and down, and smiled widely. “YAAAAAY! Let’s get started!” With that, he ran to the room he regularly shared with Ludwig, spent a minute in it, and returned to Matthew with bags of Christmas decorations. “I’ve got tinsel, lights, ornaments, stockings, candy canes, snowmen, town displays, garlands, figurines of Santa, dancing penguins, a gingerbread house making kit, place mats, reindeer mugs, a mistletoe, and snow globes! And underneath the bed is a box with a fake tree in it which I can go get right now, one second, ve!” Feliciano dropped the bags in his hands at Matthew’s feet and ran back to his room, leaving Matthew bewildered. When had the pasta-loving man bought all this without anyone noticing? The magical man did not have much time pondering this for the other guy came back with a long box with a picture of a tree on it. “Ready? We have to start now, coz time is short.” And cue Operation Turn-Mr.-Scrooge’s-Oops-I-Meant-Beilshmidt’s-and-His-Brother’s-Apartment-Into-a-Total-Winter-Wonderland-so-the-Christmas-Spirit-Can-Reign-True. Or Operation TMSOIMBHBAITWWCSCRT, whatever you wanted to call it.

Matthew soon realized that decorating with Feliciano was a breeze. The guy had so much energy in him that Matthew could only do the small jobs like switching the plain place mats with the red and green holiday place mats. However, once in a while, Feliciano needed his assistance, like putting together the plastic tree. In no time (about two hours), the Christmas fanatics had the apartment screaming “’tis the season to be jolly, hohohohoho-hohohoho.”

Lit in all its fake glory was the fake tree with already-inserted lights shining brightly, decorated with matching round red, blue, white, and green ornaments that were placed artfully, thanks to Feliciano. Since there was no fireplace, the stockings were laid out onto the TV stand, four for all the people in the house, though Matthew told the Italian repeatedly that he wasn’t staying for Christmas. Gilbert’s was red and had little yellow birds with Santa hats on, while Ludwig’s was patterned like the German flag, Feliciano’s looked like the Italian flag, and Matthew’s had a Santa suit pattern. Garland outlined every doorway and candles were placed on every flat surface in the main room. They set up the little community on the coffee table, not caring if people actually used it. The town consisted of a few houses, a post-office, a firehouse, and movie theatre with children figurines playing and adults scattered throughout. Snow globes were placed in the kitchen, in corners that would not get in the way of cooking. The dancing penguins and figures of Santa greeted people in the entryway. The mistletoe was placed before the entrance of the kitchen, which both Feliciano and Matthew carefully avoided when close to each other. When they were finished, Matthew made celebratory cocoa and poured it into the new reindeer mugs, setting to work with Feliciano to construct the gingerbread house. 

The two were making the gingerbread house, the last thing they had to do, when they heard the front door open and two pairs of feet walk in. The footsteps did not get far into the apartment. Instead, a question rang through the flat. “What the _hell_ happened to my home?”

Feliciano and Matthew stopped squirting frosting on the cookies. The Italian skipped out of the kitchen, while the toymaker followed behind silently. “We decorated it,” Feliciano explained happily. “Ve… don’t you like it? We can have a real Christmas this year! Won’t it be lovely?” Gilbert and Ludwig looked stupefied; Gilbert’s expression was morphing into anger, though. “Do you guys want to help make the gingerbread house? Sant-Matthew and I already started, but you can still help!” Matthew shrunk back at the mention of his name; the Beilschmidt brother’s eyes flickered to him for a moment, making Matthew extremely nervous. Should he have said no to Feliciano’s idea of decorating the apartment? The more he thought about it, the more the nervous feeling took over.

There was complete silence for a few seconds. “The hobo helped you,” Ludwig asked calmly, except the anger was clear in his eyes. Matthew bit his lip and pulled out a model air plane from his pocket to fiddle with. This just _could not_ be good.

Suddenly, after taking the plane apart, it was swiped from his hands. Matthew gasped and looked at the plane hijacker. It was Gilbert. “How do you always have everything in your pockets? How can you play with a plane when this is serious? You practically vandalized my house!” The pseudo-Canadian cringed from the yelling, partly from Gilbert calling Christmas decorations _vandalism_ of all things.

“It was my idea,” Feliciano cried. “Santa just helped!”

“Damnit, Feliciano,” Ludwig shouted. “He isn’t Santa Claus! Santa Claus doesn’t exist! Grow up, stop being a child, you’re acting stupid. He’s a bum, homeless, he’s _nothing_.” Matthew bit his lip and looked to the floor – how did his father put up with people saying he was not real? It was tearing Matthew apart. Why had his dad even sent him here in the first place?

“And you ruined my flat,” Gilbert included. “You know we don’t celebrate Christmas and we never will. Please understand this, Feli. Matthew also should not have done this either.” Said magic man flinched.

Ludwig looked at the albino. “Maybe you should have never brought him home, bruder.”

Matthew plopped uselessly to the floor as the three continued to fight over him and the Christmas theme Gilbert’s home was now sporting. The soon-to-be Santa _really_ did not like this. His stomach was twisting in knots, his palms were sweaty, and he was biting his lip so hard he would surely break skin soon enough. He sighed. 

When things seem tough, just eat pancakes.

With that motto in mind, he dug into his endless pockets and pulled a takeout container full of freshly made buttermilk pancakes, a fork, and a bottle of his favorite maple syrup out. Quickly, Matthew prepared his meal and got started stuffing the fluffy goodness down his throat, trying to block out the quarrel happening. Oh, _maple_ , were these pancakes good.

“-you are totally bullsh… do you smell pancakes?” Gilbert’s remark stopped Ludwig and Feliciano’s next arguments. All three pairs of eyes turned to the man sitting on the ground, fork in his right hand, take-out container with a half-eaten stack of buttermilk pancakes with a serving of maple syrup that was sure to cause diabetes, trying to be oblivious to the arguing people before him. A moment of silence followed by, “ _Where_ in the _world_ did you get _freshly_ made pancakes?” When Matthew did not respond and chose to eat more pancakes, Gilbert squatted to the floor next to the blond and tapped his shoulder.

This action emitted a surprised squeak of “EEP!” Matthew almost dropped his pancakes, _Rudolph forbid_ , because Gilbert had scared the peppermint out of him. He looked up at the aforementioned albino, almost squealed again because he was not expecting Gilbert to be that close, and asked in a breathy voice, “W-Wha-What do you want, eh?”

“Where did you get those pancakes?” The Prussian’s expression looked cool, calculating, and curious.

“U-Um, my pocket.” Blue-violet eyes glanced down at the deliciousness he loved so much.“They came from my huge pocket that you hate so much. Sorry.”

Gilbert bit his lip. “Your pocket is frustrating.” He sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. He glanced over to Ludwig who was waiting for the elder’s final statement. He sent a cursory look to Feliciano who was nervous and had a homemade white surrender flag in his hands. Gilbert frowned, gulped and turned his gaze back to Matthew, the little birdie he had picked up off the streets. As much as Gilbert wanted to toss him back to the streets… _something_ was rendering that decision useless. The Prussian held eye contact with Matthew a moment more, staring at the wonders of the blue-violet eyes that held that shining spark Gilbert felt would never get old and dull. Finally, Gilbert said, “You guys were making a gingerbread house? Can I see it? I want to help finish it. And eat it.” 

Feliciano let out a gloriously happy laugh that lightened the mood immediately. Matthew giggled, put his fork in the pancake container, closed it, and deposited it back in his pocket. Gilbert helped him off the ground and the four walked to the kitchen, although be it Ludwig was less than excited to. The house was still in pieces, but that was something frosting and gumdrops could fix. With mediocre Christmas cheer, the little group set to making the gingerbread people a home.

When they were done, they looked down at their accomplishment. It was colorful. Gumdrops, candy canes, lollipops, chocolate chips, and frosting made a big mess. It really did not look like a house at all and the gingerbread people Gilbert and Ludwig made looked like monstrous globs compared to Matthew and Feliciano’s meticulously made people.“It looks yummy,” Gilbert said. “Can I eat it?” When the reply he got was negative, he added, “Please?” The response was still a negative.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually written by Picnic, or, at least, most of it was. At the time, I had had a piercing headache all day. I wrote the first 400 words or so and the describe-y bits of the Christmas-fied apartment. Everything else was done by my dear sister. :) Next chapter is the last one! Thanks for your love!


	6. Chapter 6

Christmas Eve was tomorrow and Matthew was freaking out. He was as close to telling Gilbert of his origins and reason for staying as he was at the beginning of the month. Then there was the whole Gilbert problem in and of itself. Matthew’s heart was set into a flutter every time the albino was near, not to mention he blushed candy-cane red, too. He grew more comfortable around the naughty man, and he found that Gilbert wasn’t all that bad, often times he found himself snuggled up next Gilbert with the albino snuggled up right back. Matthew was sure now that this was the man he really did want as a missus. The young Santa also wondered if their relationship would ever be similar to his parents’. Though, firstly, Matthew had to actually _tell_ Gilbert that he was from the North Pole, and that he was taking over the family business. 

Currently, all four members of the house were sitting around the television, watching a holiday movie that Feliciano insisted on watching, while they finished eating their lunch. Gilbert got up to put away his plate and Matthew followed seconds after, each entering the kitchen one after the other. When they exited, they exited side-by-side, bumping each other’s shoulders. It was then that Feliciano called over, “Ve~, you have to kiss now! You’re under the mistletoe!” The Italian gave the two his full attention, smiling brightly, while Ludwig pretended to not be interested, but a smirk made its way onto his face. 

Matthew looked up and blushed at the sight of the mistletoe (why did they put it there?), and, looking at Gilbert, he saw that he was also pinked. Feliciano egged them on. “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” he chanted in an overly childish voice, trying to sound like the innocent person he wasn’t. The pair looked at each other, red gracing their cheeks. How more embarrassing could this situation be?

The two subjected to their fate and leaned in, nervous smiles sprawled across their faces. After a few moments of hovering and Feliciano’s eternal chanting, Gilbert gulped and quickly closed the distance. Their lips met for just a fleeting second, yet it must have been the longest second in the whole entire world. Matthew _definitely_ had gingerbread men running around in his tummy. Gilbert _for sure_ had the insane idea of maybe one day kissing Matthew again. Alas, the small peck to the lips was over before they knew it and the albino booked it to the couch. Matthew was left in the kitchen doorway, feeling as if he would die from the amount of blood rushing to his head. Gilbert was in the same state as the young Santa, trying to calm his blush while Ludwig was trying not to laugh at him. Feliciano was doing a little victory dance, ecstatic that he got two of his favorite people in the world to kiss. Matthew made his way over to the couch slowly. He was touching his still tingling lips daintily as if pressing harder might make the magic of the memory disappear.

_That was his first kiss_.

Matthew sat on the couch, once again keeping his distance from Gilbert, trying to tame his blush. Feliciano settled from his victory dance and it was quiet in the apartment once again, save for the TV. After a few seconds, Feliciano spoke up. “Ve~, so sad that you have to leave later today, right Matthew?” Matthew nodded quietly while Gilbert shot up giving Feliciano a questioning look. Feliciano explained, “Well, Santa has to go home to the North Pole to get ready for Christmas. Gifts don’t deliver themselves, you know.”

Gilbert did not want to see Matthew leave and, while not believing Matthew and his origins, he questioned Matt where he was actually going. Because Santa does not exist, according to Gilbert. “Whoa, Birdie, you never said you were leaving so soon. Where are you actually going? I don’t want to see a guy like you back on the streets.” Gilbert looked slightly worried with agitation written all over his face.

Matthew replied, albeit nervously, “Well, I’ve got to go home, Gilbert. Christmas is in two days. I’ve got to help my dad. I leave tonight.” Matthew fiddled with something in his pocket, not taking it out. He refused to meet the albino’s eyes, the ones that were currently burning holes into his head. 

Gilbert said angrily, “And just where is that? Where is home? Aren’t you from Canada? Across the border?” Gilbert crossed his arms, glaring at the young Santa. He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he didn’t want to be away from the man he had just kissed. It went beyond the tiny crush he felt for Matthew and that scared him; Matthew was supposed to be a passer-by hobo, not someone who he got close to, much less have a _tiny_ crush on. 

Feliciano spoke up yet again, “You’re silly, Gilbert. His home is the North Pole; Santa’s Workshop, to be exact, ve.The North Pole isn’t in Canada. Wait, is it? Uh…” The Italian trailed off, a confused smile plastered to his face as he tried figured out what country the North Pole was in. “Besides, Sant—Matthew can get there by magic, ve~. Right?” He turned to look at the quiet blond for affirmation. 

“Yes, Feliciano,” Matthew muttered quietly, not liking the expression that was forming on Gilbert’s face. In truth, Matthew could have gone home anytime he wanted; he knew it and his father knew it—finding a missus wasn’t a punishment and if you felt you weren’t ready, you could return. It was his choice whether or not to return, and Matthew chose to stay to get to know Gilbert better. 

The albino was boiling over with frustration. “Santa Claus isn’t real, Feliciano,” he snapped. “He’s just a fat man made by companies like mine to sell more crap people don’t need to make more money.Matthew isn’t Santa, either. He’s a hobo I picked up at the park and will never be more than a bum that pretends to be Santa.” Gilbert glared at the blond. “And Matthew, you aren’t Santa, nor will you ever be, and you shouldn’t lead spoiled children on, pedo. You came into my house and made it a wonderland of crap after I made it clear we do not celebrate the damn holiday.” Throughout this, Gilbert had stood, yelling out his accusations and by now Feliciano was crying and Matthew was biting his lip. Ludwig remained silent, choosing not to take part.

_He called me a pedophile,_ Matthew thought incredulously. _He said I would never be Santa._ Why did fate hate him so much? What did he do wrong to make Gilbert hate the one holiday that described his entire being? The young Santa felt anger building, all pointed to the _naughty_ man. “You Grinch,” he accused. “Clearly, your heart is two sizes too small. I _am_ Santa. Well, almost a Santa,” he amended, thinking of his father. “I am _not_ a figgy-pudding pedophile; Rudolph forbid that! Just what made you hate Christmas so much? Did my father run over your grandmother? Scratch that; my father or grandfather would never be so cruel.” Matthew glared at the albino, crossing his arms.

“If you’re fucking Santa, then why are you here? What’s in New York for you? Please, enlighten me.” Gilbert’s eyes held great distrust as he frowned at the young Santa. He was fed up with the blond’s odd answers, wanting something realistic as an answer, even if it was a lie. Yes, he didn’t care for the blond’s origins in the beginning, but he didn’t think a cute guy such as Matthew could be batshit crazy. 

“I-I’m looking for someone,” Matthew apprehensively replied, not wanting to actually tell the angry albino that the someone was him. “I found them, but they probably won’t be willing to be a friend…” He looked down, saddened that his Mrs. Claus probably will never be a friend any longer, even with Matthew’s massive crush on him. “I didn’t want to, but I’ll have to go home without them.” Upon seeing Feliciano’s questioning look, the young Santa briefly forgot the angry man and oinked, explaining to the Italian, “I was sent to look for a Mrs. Claus, Feli.” Feliciano nodded, a small smile coming to his lips, but it was quickly lost as Gilbert spoke once again.

“Oh, to hell with this Santa act! You aren’t a magical fat man; he doesn’t exist. I feel sorry to the mother who birthed you, hobo! She had a crazy son. And of course they wouldn’t want to be a friend to someone like you! They wouldn’t want anything to do with you!” Gilbert was seething with anger, frustration emanating off him, making everyone flinch back, including Ludwig. 

It was silent for a few moments and Matthew wondered what had happened to the good afternoon. Why did Feliciano bring up the fact that he was leaving tonight? Matthew had been planning on telling Gilbert later today, and that the albino should go with him, slowly breaking in the “unbelievable” truth. No, it had ended up like this and his supposedly most trusted friend/possible love of his life was yelling at him about how Matthew shouldn’t even exist and that he felt sorry for a woman who didn’t even birth the blond; he was made of magic after all, born of the New Year. The young Santa felt himself tear up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It just wasn’t.

“Get out,” Gilbert finally growled.

“Huh?” 

“I said get out. This home doesn’t need your stupid, unawesome Christmas cheer.” Gilbert refused to look at Matthew, not having the heart to say it to his face. He just couldn’t handle it! His whole life he was told that Father Christmas did not exist! Now here was an adorable person claiming to be the fat guy himself! Maybe he did have the heart of the Grinch. 

“O-okay,” Matthew said, shakily, quickly standing and bolting out the door before anyone could see his tears. All three stared out the door in the blond’s wake, wide eyed. 

Feliciano was first to make a move, standing quickly and dashing after Matthew. He stood in the hall looking both ways for the young Santa, one was a dead end, empty, and the other way was person-less, two, neither of the elevators showing they were in use.

He was gone. 

It was an hour before Santa Claus had to leave for his one-night-a-year job, and Dan couldn’t focus on being jolly. His son had come home suddenly yesterday and promptly ran to his room, where he had locked himself in. Both Santa and Mrs. Claus had tried to get him out and talk to him, but he remained stubborn. Heat blister, even the elves tried talking to him!

It was the next morning when Matthew had left his room, eyes rimmed red from crying. He had quickly set to work on last minute gifts, not eating the entire day. Everyone in the workshop was worried for him but all left him his space. Christmas Eve was quiet in the workshop, Matthew’s mood ruining everyone else’s. Just what had happened with his missus? Frankly, even Dan didn’t want to know.

Jumping slightly, Santa saw the last letter mailed to him float in front of his face. He usually _never_ got letters _this_ late, but to all his own. The name on the return address made him raise an eyebrow. This should be interesting. The letter did not even begin with the ever polite “Dear Santa Claus”, instead it read:

_So, uh, hi. You don’t exist and I’ve never written one of these before, but I thought the awesome me should at least try. Here it goes:_

_Fictional fat man, I did something really stupid and I’m probably on the “Naughty List” for life and I just don’t know what to do.Everyone is mad at me, even I am, which is unawesome. So I thought I should at least try asking you. The awesome me has never asked anything of you, so just this once, please…. This Christmas I want a Birdie._

_—the Awesome Gilbert_

Santa laughed heartily, in the typical “ho, ho, ho” fashion, as he motioned the head elf, Tino over. Tino dropped what he was doing and walked over to his boss. Santa leaned in, whispering something into the elf’s ear, of which the elf smiled excitedly and sprinted off to do his job. 

Soon, a birdie and a Birdie were placed in the sleigh and Santa was on his way, though one of the birds screeched loudly, to which the jolly man chuckled. Santa went round the world before stopping in New York, going everywhere but one apartment. Finally, the jolly man entered the last apartment, bringing out the last two gifts.

One was set under the tree while the other kicked Santa in the shin. “Dad! Why did you practically kidnap me and take me…” Matthew looked around, recognizing his surroundings. He paled and backed away from his father, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no. Take me home.”

“I don’t think so, son,” Santa declined, placing a bow on the blond’s head. “You’re someone’s present this year.” He winked, turning to check on the actual present underneath the Christmas tree. “Now be a good present and get under the tree, Matthew.” His son pouted, making the man laugh loudly, which wasn’t the best thing to do.

A loud thump came from Gilbert’s bedroom and there was a sound of the door opening. There was a groggy groan of “Who’s there?” Matthew’s eyes widened as the albino stumbled half-asleep into the room. He was dressed in crumpled sweats and shirt for the cold winter night, his hair all askew and his eyes half open. It sent Matthew’s heart aflutter and sent blood to his cheeks.

“D-dad! See what you’ve done,” the young blond accused, trying to stay focused on Santa rather that attractive man in the corner of his eye. He noticed that Gilbert seemed to awaken more at the sound of his voice. “Please, let’s just go,” he begged.

Santa just smiled kindly, patting his son on the head. “I’m a minute behind schedule, son, so count yourself lucky you’re not getting a kid this year.” With a wink, the magical man was gone, leaving his son and the naughty man alone in the apartment. Matthew glared at the space his father had just occupied, not looking towards Gilbert.

“M-Matthew?” Gilbert asked, incredulous. “W-what? He just—you just— _Real?_ ” The albino collapsed onto the couch, looking astonished. He had just seen Santa Claus pop out of his apartment leaving _his son_ and… there was a present under the tree. Gilbert never received gifts. 

The blond clutched his arm with the opposite hand, squeezing slightly. “H-hi, Gilbert,” he said, softly. “Merry Christmas.” Matthew smiled meekly, trying to joke. After a few seconds, he sighed and joined the albino on the couch. He tugged the bow out of his hair and in the process yanked out some hair, yelping. They sat in an awkward silence as Gilbert collected his thoughts.

Two minutes later, the albino spoke up, making statements to organize his thoughts. “Santa is real.” Matthew nodded. “You’re his son.” Another nod. “And what was this about kids and—and before you left you mentioned something about ‘Mrs. Claus’. What was that about?” Gilbert turned to stare at Matthew, his red eyes staring at the way his blond hair looked in the moonlight and how his cheeks darkened with a blush.

“Well, uh,” the young Santa said, trying to explain. It came to pass that Matthew relayed the entire situation, his blush not once leaving his cheek as he explained the Mrs. Claus situation and the origins of a child, which described his own birth. Gilbert let him explain, for once staying quiet and open-minded about the entire holiday. “And that’s it,” Matthew concluded.

It was quiet two seconds before Gilbert smirked. “As awesome as that is, I don’t think I could ever be a ‘missus’,” he said, winking, bringing a blush to the innocent blond’s face. The albino laughed, slinging his arms over the young Santa and bringing him close into a hug, to which Matthew returned. Pulling away, Gilbert glanced over to the tree, looking curiously at the gift underneath, like a child looking for the first time at all the presents Santa had left.

Matthew chuckled, smiling at Gilbert’s newfound childishness. “Go ahead and open it, Gilbert,” he encouraged. “Tino—he’s the head elf—made it and bred it himself for you.” He gave and reassuring push and Gilbert hesitantly walked over to the tree, picking up the gift and walked back to Matthew.

Slowly, he opened, taking great care in taking off the paper. The albino gasped and smiled when he saw it. In one of those old fashioned, bronze, ornate domed cages was a canary, a yellow one to be exact. Gilbert squealed in delight like a child and took the bird out of the cage, and, instead of flying away like one would expect, the bird stayed in his hand. “This is so awesome,” the albino cried, youth seeping through his words. “You’ll be Gilbird, okay buddy?” He told the bird, lifting his hand and gently placing the bird on his head. Gilbird chirped happily, snuggling into his owner’s white hair. 

“I take it you like him,” Matthew asked, somewhat jokingly. Gilbert nodded, grabbing the blond’s hand, squeezing it in thanks. “That’s good to hear.” The young Santa smiled and, feeling bold, leaned over and pecked the happy albino on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, Gilbert.”

“Merry Christmas, Birdie.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done. Three years since I wrote this thing. I wish I could rewrite it, but I don't have the motivation. Thank you for enjoying it, if you've enjoyed it. Happy Rammahanukwanzmas! But, hell, because this is a Christmas fic -- Merry Christmas! Unless you're an atheist and reading this for the PruCan, have a great Friday. :D

**Author's Note:**

> So! Here it goes, two years after this was originally written, I've gone back to it sort of... Anywho, I'm taking it from my ff.net account and putting it here, so woo! Six chapters in total and posting the story should end by Christmas Eve.


End file.
